


The Wild Hunt (Part Two)

by bluebeholder



Series: the longest night [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, the wild hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8936071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: Sam summons the Wild Hunt so he may ride with them again. The Erlking answers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel that literally no one asked for has finally arrived! Well…I’m pretty sure the Erlking asked for it, actually. My sister and I were talking about my fall fanfiction plans, with a mix of random big band music playing. And RIGHT when I said that I might write a sequel to the Wild Hunt fic, the opening strains of freaking Sleigh Ride started playing. If that’s not a message, I don’t know what is. So, in the interest of not getting hunted down by the Erlking tonight, here’s the story.

Sam studied himself one last time in the mirror. He’d gone to some trouble to get clothes that were better for riding, and he was pleased with it. His puppy Jess, lying by the bed, barked. He looked down at her reflection in the mirror. “You think I look okay?” he asked.

She barked again and wagged her tail. In the year since she’d been given to Sam, Jess had grown incredibly quickly. She’d grown up from a puppy who could fit in Sam’s hands to a dog who stood nearly as tall as Sam’s waist. Dean grumped incessantly about how much they were spending on dog food, but Sam knew he’d gotten attached Jess anyway.

This year, Sam had an athame on his belt, hanging beside the horn the Huntsman had given him the previous year. It seemed more appropriate to the nature of the Wild Hunt than a regular old hunting knife or the demon-killing knife, though Cas had insisted that he and Dean purify the blade before Sam take it out. Sam let them do it. They were worried about his safety if he rode with the Wild Hunt, and Sam couldn’t exactly blame them. This wasn’t safe, not really, though Sam had a hunch that the Erlking wouldn’t let him come to any harm. 

He straightened his shirt one last time, picked up his coat, and went out the door, Jess on his heels and a bounce in his step. Sam walked out into the map room, where Dean and Cas were sitting at the table talking. They were casually holding hands, which was great to see. Even after last year’s debacle, it had taken them both some time to get used to showing each other open affection. The second that Sam came in, both men looked up.

“You on your way out?” Dean asked with forced casualness.

“Yeah,” Sam said, unable to restrain a smile. He started looking for the gloves he knew he’d left around here somewhere.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Dean said, getting up and folding his arms.

Cas mimicked Dean’s pose. The one bad thing about their new together-ness was that Sam suddenly had two worrywart older brothers, instead of just one. “It really isn’t wise,” Cas said. 

“Hey, you two know where I’ll be,” Sam said, surfacing with his gloves at last. He tugged them on and then clipped Jess’s leash onto her collar. She barked and pranced, excited for her walk. “And besides, the Huntsman won’t do anything horrible.”

“You hope,” Dean said darkly. But he didn’t stop Sam from going up the steps to the door. “Just be safe, okay?”

Sam nodded. “Of course, Dean,” he called down over the railing. 

“We’ll leave the door unlocked,” Cas said. 

“Thanks,” Sam said, throwing them a grin, and then he and Jess went out the door together into the night.

It was freezing again this year, though there was significantly less snow to be seen. Sam stamped up the steps, breath fogging in the air. The sound of Jess’s panting and Sam’s footsteps were the only noises on the frozen winter night. 

Sam walked out into the road, Jess’s leash tangled around his hand. His other rested on the hunting horn. The asphalt was icy, but Sam kept his feet. Dean had moved the Impala inside, trying to keep her out of the snow. There weren’t any streetlights on the road outside the bunker, and the light from the streetlights up on the bridge was thin and weak at best. It was just Sam, Jess, and the cold silver stars overhead. 

He waited a minute, calming his nerves. “Jess, sit,” he said. She did, watching him with her head cocked curiously. Feeling his skin prickle with tension, Sam pulled the horn off his belt, lifted it to his lips, and blew a long, strong blast. 

The sound echoed over the snow, bouncing off the bridge, far louder than it should have been considering how bad Sam was at playing the horn. He put it back on his belt and waited, expecting that nothing was actually going to happen. For a moment, it seemed like nothing would. But then Sam heard the distant baying of hounds and the sound of a hunter’s cry. 

Later, he wasn’t sure how the Wild Hunt appeared. The hounds were shadows, midnight blue emerging from the snowdrifts with red eyes flickering like awakening embers. Sam wasn’t scared. He’d run with them before. 

Then there was the sound of merry bells jingling, and Sam’s heart inexplicably leaped. A pair of proud stallions, black as the night sky, trotted down the road, hooves clopping on the icy asphalt. The bells adorned their tack. Only one had a rider, though, and Sam recognized him immediately. 

At a fair distance from Sam, the Erlking dismounted his horse without bothering to picket it and strode forward, offering a hand. “Well met, Sam Winchester,” he boomed. 

Sam clasped the huge man’s forearm. “Uh, well met,” he said, stuttering a little over the unfamiliar greeting. “I thought—I wanted—”

“You wish to ride with the Wild Hunt?” the Erlking said, with a broad smile. His teeth, though sharp, weren’t terrifying right now. He seemed as thrilled as Sam, unreserved enthusiasm radiating from his face. His grip was warm on Sam’s arm. “My invitation was unbounded, Sam Winchester. Of course you must ride with us tonight. I shall be honored to hunt with you.”

Sam felt his face heating up. This was absurd, but he was honestly embarrassed by the Erlking’s admiration. Here was this person, this enormous fey being with antlers and sharp teeth and eyes as dark as a demon’s, a powerful being with command of forces beyond Sam’s comprehension, who seemed to like Sam. The Erlking wanted to be around Sam, to ride beside Sam on a hunt that was the literal embodiment of the relationship between predator and prey. Sam was just Sam, while the Erlking was a being of phenomenal cosmic power.

The Erlking let go of Sam’s arm and bent to offer a hand to Jess. She smiled a canine smile and put her paw in his hand, just like Sam had taught her. “And you’ve kept your hound well, I see,” the Erlking said, letting go of her paw and stroking Jess’s head. 

“She’s amazing,” Sam said proudly. Jess rubbed against his leg and barked, looking around at the other hounds. 

“Let us go then, you and I,” the Erlking said, turning abruptly and mounting his horse. 

Sam followed suit, climbing into the saddle with considerably less grace. His horse allowed him to take his time, though, and when he was in the saddle Sam looked to the Erlking. “I’m ready,” he said. 

The Erlking’s smile was sharp now, dangerous and hungry. He raised his horn to his lips and sounded the hunting call, spurring his horse into an immediate gallop. Sam touched his heels to his horse’s flanks and it leaped forward, keeping pace easily with the Erlking’s horse. Around them the hounds bayed and yelped, surging forward like a tide. Jess was down there, somewhere, but Sam couldn’t make her out. He looked forward and realized that already they’d slipped into that liminal space, not quite here and not quite there, where there was only the wind and the dark of night. 

And then ahead Sam saw it: the figure of a powerful white stag, noble head raised, watching the approach of the Hunt. He kept expecting it to run, but—

“Shouldn’t it be running?” he called to the Erlking over the noise of the barking hounds.

He laughed. “Nay, Sam Winchester,” the Lord of the Hunt shouted back. “Tonight we hunt another quarry!”

“What other quarry?” Sam asked. He was hoping this wasn’t some kind of crazy chase again.

The Erlking reined his horse in a bit and Sam followed suit, suddenly glad for the riding lessons he’d been taking over the last year in preparation for tonight. The stallions slow to a leisurely trot. “I have been watching you,” the Erlking said. “Your prowess as a hunter has only grown. It is admirable.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, glancing down at his gloved hands where they wrapped around the reins. This was the weirdest goddamn situation, honestly. He kept getting complimented by an ancient and powerful fey being, and what was worse was that he was really starting to like it. Dean would smack him if he were here.

“It would be beneath your skills to chase only a stag, no matter how noble the beast,” the Erlking went on. “So tonight we hunt the most dangerous of quarries. Tonight, we hunt the boar!”

Sam looked back at the Erlking. On horseback, the height difference between them was far less significant. He could almost look the fey lord in the eye. “Boar?”

“The legendary boar,” the Erlking confirmed. “You mortals call it Gullinbursti, the Calydonian or Erymanthian Boar, Twrch Trwyth, or another name. In all its aspects, it is a mighty foe! But not, I think, beyond your considerable skill.”

“All right,” Sam said with a grin. “Where do we look?”

“The hounds will hunt him down!” the Erlking said, and lifted his horn to sound a call. 

Sam didn’t know how the magic worked, but it seemed that the hounds suddenly knew exactly where they were going. Sam had to hold tight to the horse’s reins as it burst into speed without an indication from him that it should do so. It was keeping pace with the Erlking’s horse, and now the Erlking was urging on the hounds with shouts and horn blasts. They weren’t that hard to imitate, and on a whim Sam took up his own horn and sounded it himself. It was clear in the night, pealing out just like the sound the Erlking’s made, and Sam was delighted when he heard Jess’s distinctive bark near his stirrups. 

Suddenly, there was a violent sensation like Sam’s whole body was forcibly reorienting itself. He looked where the sensation was pointing and saw the boar. It was huge, titanic, as big as a tank with ivory tusks like spears. Its fur was bloody red and its beady eyes watched the oncoming Wild Hunt with strange intelligence. It scraped one gargantuan hoof against whatever passed for a ground in this terrible place and bellowed out a roar that made Sam’s blood go cold. He expected it to charge, but instead it turned tail and fled, running as fast as the hounds.

“After it!” the Erlking cried. He goaded the hounds forward with eager shouts, and Sam joined him. His heart was pounding so fast he thought it might burst. But he bent low over the horse’s neck, trusting that the Erlking wouldn’t intentionally get him killed tonight. 

The world was a blur as the Wild Hunt erupted after its quarry. Sam didn’t know how many hounds there were, only that there were enough to fill the whole sky with yelping and baying. The bells on the harnesses rang and jingled without pause as the horse plunged forward, heedless of the fact that whatever it was running on wasn’t really ground. Snow stung Sam’s face and the wind screamed in his ears, but all he could really see and hear was the boar running and squealing as it went. 

They burst from the place between the worlds in the mountains. Which mountains, Sam didn’t know—but these were mountains. Sharp, craggy peaks that put anything Sam had ever seen to shame towered overhead, dwarfing even the boar. They were running now between trees, hounds blinking as fast as shadows after the boar. The boar crashed heedlessly through the trees, knocking them down and leaving a trail of splinters and broken branches behind as it went. The Erlking and Sam were riding so close that Sam could have reached out and touched the Erlking if he’d wanted. 

“There’s a cliff ahead!” the Erlking said, and it was as though he were speaking directly into Sam’s ear. “We’ll corner him there and finish him off!”

Sam nodded, not sure that he could speak even if he were sure that the Erlking would be able to hear him, and gave the horse its head to run. 

When they came out of the trees, it was to an awesome sight. The boar faced them, precipitously placed on the edge of a towering cliff, the hounds of the Wild Hunt snapping at it and keeping it at bay. A few of the braver dogs had managed to leap onto the boar’s back and were worrying at its ears, drawing blood and slowing it down in its movements. 

“Now, Sam Winchester, prove your mettle! Take the first spear,” the Erlking said. Sam glanced at the lord of the Wild Hunt, who was holding out a short spear for Sam to take. It had a broad head, short shaft, and two odd wings just below the point.

Sam took the spear from the Erlking and, careful of the eager hounds all around, urged his horse forward, toward the boar. The Erlking, still on his own horse, followed suit, holding his own long spear ready to strike. 

It was a fact that Sam had actually never hunted a boar before. He and Dean had gone after a babi ngepet once, but that didn’t count right now. They’d confronted the boar demon in its human form, not when it was a boar at all, and even if it had been a boar it wouldn’t have been quite this big. 

As they closed in, the boar reared back and pawed the air with its massive hooves, squealing a challenge. The Erlking only laughed in response and raised his spear. “Strike true, for you will not have another chance!”

Sam hefted the spear. It was almost instinctual, how he held it, and how he knew where to aim to strike a good blow. And when he thrust with the spear, it struck the boar’s massive head, glancing off the bony ridge of the brow and sinking deep into the boar’s eye. The animal roared and tried to charge forward, but the horse refused to budge. So, instead of being able to charge Sam and gore him with its immense tusks, the boar reared up again and Sam had to let go of the spear or risk being thrown. 

He thought for a moment that it was all over, but he’d forgotten that he was with the master of hunting. The Erlking charged forward and drove his spear directly into the boar’s chest. There was a gout of blood, so hot it steamed as it hit the snow, and the boar screamed. It toppled like a falling tree, smashing into the ground right on the edge of the cliff. 

The hounds, as if in respect for the death of so great a beast, fell silent. 

“Come, Sam Winchester,” the Erlking said, turning and staring at Sam with eyes as black as the boar’s. “Let us claim the quarry.”

Sam shivered as he dismounted his horse. He was knee deep in the snow, but it didn’t slow him down as he came to stand beside the Erlking, looking down at the boar. It was dead, or dying, unable to move with the great spear protruding from its heart and the other driven deep into its eye. Red blood stained the snow everywhere. “Like last time?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” the Erlking said. 

Careful not to cut himself on the razor edge of the blade, Sam drew out his athame. He stood beside the boar’s huge head and rested a hand on its jaw. Its black eye stared at him, almost as if it understood what he was doing. He had to remind himself that this was no ordinary animal. This was a mythical beast, just as powerful as the Erlking in its own way. Like the stag, its death was only temporary. 

Unsure of what to say, if he should say anything at all, Sam stayed silent as he drew the athame over the place where the boar’s pulse pounded in its neck. It whimpered, but did not move. A moment later, the light went out of its eyes, and the boar fell still.

“Claim your kill,” the Erlking rumbled. 

Sam pressed his hand against the bleeding gash in the boar’s neck. It came away red with blood, and— almost disgusted, but more excited— Sam licked the blood from his palm. It wasn’t an unfamiliar taste, considering the number of times he’d gotten punched in the mouth in his life, but the tingle of magic was entirely foreign to him. He looked up at the Erlking. “This quarry is mine,” he said, and he wasn’t sure where the words came from but they felt right. 

The Erlking smiled. “Well done, Sam Winchester,” he said. 

At that, the hounds set up a howl that filled the entire world with sound. Sam’s heart leaped and he laughed in surprise and delight. 

“You should spend this Solstice eve celebrating as a hunter should,” the Erlking said, looking down at Sam. 

“How’s that?” Sam asked, feeling bold and sure of himself. The yelping of the hounds matched the rhythm of his pulse, and he could feel magic stirring in his blood. Sam wasn’t unfamiliar with blood magic, but this felt different than demon blood. It felt right. With the taste of the boar’s blood still on his tongue, Sam understood what Dean had meant about Purgatory. This was pure. This was who he was meant to be. 

The Erlking put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Join me tonight. Drink and feast and tell tales around a fire. This is the longest night of the year, and the most magical. It is the night when you and I are at our strongest, when you can most easily see the truth of yourself. Be part of the Wild Hunt a little longer yet.”

“Okay,” Sam said without thinking. 

And just like that they were no longer in the mountainous forest, but somewhere else. They were standing in a forest of massive evergreen trees where snow lay in silent piles across the forest floor and the branches. Through the gaps in the trees overhead, Sam could see the stars winking at him. There were pavilions erected under the trees, and he and the Erlking stood before the largest. 

“How—” Sam started, but when he looked at the Erlking he was struck dumb. 

The Erlking no longer looked like the terrifying Lord of the Wild Hunt. He was only about as tall as Sam again, with small three-pronged antlers on his head, and teeth that were much less terrifyingly sharklike. He grinned at Sam’s stupid expression. “You have seen me look like this before,” he chided. 

“It’s still surprising,” Sam said. Jess, beside him, barked. Sam scratched her head. “I didn’t really expect you to drop your other look so soon.”

“That is a shape for hunting and killing,” the Erlking said. “This is a shape for celebrating. Now come! Join the feast!” With that, he strode into the pavilion. 

Shaking his head, Sam followed. He didn’t know what to expect, but he had to admit that if he was going to predict it would have looked like this. The pavilion was something between a Viking longhouse and a historically inaccurate representation of a caveman’s lair. The walls were draped in boughs of holly and ivy and mistletoe— all, when Sam looked closely at them, still alive despite not being rooted anywhere. Heaps of furs surrounded a great fire burning hot at the center of the pavilion, and there were benches and long tables arranged at one end. A spit over the fire held a haunch of what Sam was pretty sure was the boar they’d just hunted. Hounds lay about everywhere, playing with each other, and there were other beings present here. Sam shouldn’t have been surprised at that, but somehow he was. Who was taking care of the horses except other supernatural beings like the Erlking? Sam could put a name to some of the creatures (he definitely spotted a few werewolves, and there were several Redcaps and other kinds of fairies that Sam recognized) but others were entirely foreign to him, and he suspected he’d never see their like again. 

“Join me, Sam Winchester!” the Erlking called from the other side of the pavilion. 

Sam navigated around the fire and through the people, Jess on his heels, acutely aware that every creature in the room was staring at him. He sat down beside the Erlking. “Is this where you, uh, you spend the rest of your year?” he asked.

The Erlking inclined his head. “Even a Wild Hunt cannot always ride,” he said. “And this place is as true to the spirit of the Hunt as the ride itself. At these fires, all who hunt are welcome to stay and feast and hear tales of their bravery told. The only price is that any who stay here must hunt, to share the bounty with their fellows.”

“Oh,” Sam said, glancing again around the room. “Anyone who hunts?”

“They must be masters of the craft,” the Erlking said. “And you are a master. Do not doubt that.”

Sam looked down at his hands, unable to stop a smile. “Thank you,” he said. 

The night wore on so much more quickly than Sam had expected from the longest night of the year. He found a drinking horn full of mead in his hands at one point, and at another there was roasted boar. People told stories and held contests— Sam actually managed to win an arm-wrestling contest against a grizzled man who he was pretty sure was an old Norse berserker. But the man, instead of being angry he was defeated, clapped Sam on the shoulder and said something in his language that made everyone laugh and made Sam feel like he’d just become friends with the guy. 

By ones and twos, the other hunters gradually disappeared from the pavilion. Even the dogs, except Jess, took their leave, slinking off into the night to seek more prey. At last, it was only Sam and the Erlking. Sam’s head was dizzy was alcohol and he could swear he’d never eaten anything more delicious than that damn boar. He was still sitting next to the Erlking, which he’d gathered over the night was a place of real honor. It meant he’d done something impressive, but Sam still wasn’t sure what, exactly, stabbing a boar in the eye meant. He still had a prickly feeling that all of this was going to go horribly wrong, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“What is troubling you?” the Erlking asked at length. 

Sam shrugged. “I just don’t think I’m that good of a hunter,” he said. “I mean, sure, I’m a pretty fair hand, but I’m not… I’m not like you.”

The Erlking sighed. “Sam,” he said, and that was the first time he’d ever addressed Sam without using Sam’s last name too. “Do you know that there are stories about you?”

“What?” Sam asked, not sure he’d heard correctly. Or maybe there were stories, and they were as awful as his real life. 

“Throughout all the realms, your name is known,” the Erlking said, staring into the fire. It reflected oddly in his eyes. “You are, in some places, more fabled than I. You have hunted quarry that ought to have hunted you. You have hunted for the Devil, for the sister of God Himself. And you have always caught your prey. That is no mean feat.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m just a human,” he said. “Just one guy. I’m nothing special.”

“The boar you hunted tonight was every bit as powerful as I am,” the Erlking said. “If I challenged you, and we fought on a ground of your choosing, I am sure that I would fall.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sam said, staring at the Erlking. He’d heard fairies were crazy, but this took the cake and ate the whole thing.

The Erlking turned and looked Sam directly in the eyes. “I cannot lie, Sam,” he said. “It is impossible. And to one of your stature, I would never lie even if I could. A savage hunter I may be, but I abide by the rules of courtesy.”

Even if the Erlking was basically saying that Sam was his equal, Sam still felt very small reflected in those eyes. “Is that why you invited me back? Gave me Jess and all that?”

“It is the way of things to pay tribute to one’s superiors,” the Erlking said. He winked. “And if I should wish to avoid finding myself at the end of your gun, I must be careful not to insult you.”

Sam couldn’t laugh, even though he was pretty sure that was a joke. “But…” he started.

The Erlking pressed a finger to Sam’s lips and everything Sam was going to say crashed into itself inside his mouth. He thought his head was going to explode. “No, Sam Winchester,” the Erlking said. “Do not deny what you are. You are a hunter. You have denied it for your whole life, but do not insult yourself and do not insult me by denying it here. If you so choose, you could challenge me for my power, and in the end I would yield to you. You could lead the Wild Hunt, if you wished.”

Okay, now Sam thought he was just going to die outright. He didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Do you wish it?” the Erlking asked, raising one eyebrow. 

“No!” Sam burst out. “I— I’m honored, but I can’t do something like that! You’re the Erlking. Even if I am a great hunter, I’m still just a man.”

The Erlking nodded. “A wise choice,” he said. “To lead the Hunt is a great burden, and one which none should take lightly. Many have tried. Herne, Herla, even Woden himself. And of all of us who have chosen to lead the Hunt, none have been so mighty as you.”

“Please stop,” Sam said softly. Jess whined and rubbed her head against his leg, offering comfort. He petted her absently, trying not to just get up and run out into the night. “I don’t know what you see in me or why you’re so insistent that I’m something great. I’m not. I’m just…”

“You are Sam Winchester,” the Erlking said, clasping Sam’s free hand in between both of his. “You have ridden with the Wild Hunt and slain the stag and the boar. You have defeated the Devil and even Death itself. And yet you remain a mortal man. Your will to be as you choose has stood fast against all these things, and that is what makes you strong.”

Sam swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to do, how to react to this. What the hell did the Erlking want, anyway? Sam thought this was just going to be a hunt, not… whatever was happening to him now. The Erlking’s hands, he thought, were warm. 

“It is past time for you to return to your own place,” the Erlking finally said, when the silence went on too long. The fire had burnt down to embers, and Sam could feel the cold wind blowing into the pavilion. “My servants will have prepared the sleigh. Come!” 

With Jess bumping into his leg, Sam let the Erlking lead him out of the pavilion by the hand. The sleigh— red and gleaming, with bells all around it and two black horses ready to draw it— was indeed waiting just outside the pavilion. Sam stepped up into the sleigh and Jess flopped down at his feet. There was a fur wrap, which Sam actually did put around his shoulders because it was freezing. The Erlking sat beside him, holding the reins and the whip. 

The sleigh moved silently and swiftly over the frozen ground, cutting between the trees with ease and nimbleness that Sam would have expected from a motorcycle, not a big sleigh. But really the sleigh wasn’t that big, he guessed. He and the Erlking, neither of whom were exactly small men, were shoulder to shoulder on the seat, and Jess filled up most of the foot room. Despite the cramped conditions, it wasn’t like it was an uncomfortable drive. The bells, indeed, were soothing, and as they came out of the forest and onto an open plain of snow Sam realized that he could see daylight coming up over the horizon. It was just fading to blue, but still. The longest night was over. It would be a year until the Wild Hunt rode again. 

He wasn’t sure, exactly, when they came back onto roads that were familiar to Sam. The Erlking obviously knew the way, driving the sleigh expertly down the icy roads. They didn’t talk much. Sam was kind of glad of that. The Erlking had almost scared him back there in the pavilion, with all that talk about how “special” and amazing Sam was. He didn’t like to hear that. It felt weird. He wasn’t special. Was he?

“I thank you, Sam,” the Erlking said as the sleigh made the turn onto the Bunker’s road. “This has been a night I shall remember for a long time.”

“It was amazing,” Sam said. “Really. Thank you.”

The Erlking, pulling on the reins a bit to slow the horses, glanced at him. “If you should wish to ride again next year…” he said, and stopped. 

“I do,” Sam rushed to assure him. He summoned up a smile, and was surprised to find that it was really genuine. “This is an incredible experience. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

If Sam didn’t know better, he would have said that the Erlking looked relieved. “Good,” the other man said. “I will expect you, then, on Solstice next!”

“I’ll be there,” Sam said. 

The Erlking smiled. He reached out as Sam stepped down from the sleigh and took Sam’s hand in his. “I will count on it,” he said, and bent his head to kiss the back of Sam’s hand. 

Well, that guaranteed it. Sam was going to pass out. 

“Until next year!” the Erlking said, laughing at the expression on Sam’s face as he released Sam’s hand. At some signal Sam didn’t catch, the horses began to trot away, pulling the Erlking’s sleigh off into the dawn. He stood in the road, watching until the sleigh disappeared, and then listening until he could no longer hear the sound of bells. 

Then Sam sighed and reached down to scratch Jess’s head. “Come on, girl,” he said. “Let’s get inside before your paws freeze to the road.” She barked, and followed Sam down the steps and into the Bunker.

To his surprise, Dean and Cas were awake and sitting by the map table. Dean was still in a robe, and Cas was wrapped in a blanket, and both of them had hot drinks in front of them. When Sam came in, flushed and nose burning from the cold, both of them looked up.

“Sam!” Cas said, getting up. 

“I’ll get you some coffee,” Dean said, disappearing toward the kitchen. By the time that Sam was finished stripping off his boots and warm clothes, Dean was back with a huge mug of hot coffee, which Sam accepted gratefully as he sat down. 

Cas scrutinized him. “You look all right,” he said. 

“I am all right!” Sam said with a smile. “It was a good hunt, honestly. We chased down a boar!”

“A boar?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. “Sounds pretty cool.”

Sam sighed and took a drink of coffee, relishing the warmth. “You have no idea,” he said. 

“Are you going back next year?” Cas asked bluntly.

Sam thought about whatever that hand kissing business had been back on the sleigh and realized that he really wanted to know more about where that was going. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I think so.”

He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he thought he heard the Erlking laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A babi ngepet is an Indonesian boar demon.
> 
> This is the least accurate boar hunt ever written. But I hope it was at least enjoyable. Stay tuned for an epilogue, coming soon to an AO3 page near you! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe wholeheartedly in the Brian Jacques school of thought when it comes to the description of a feast. If you're going to write one, _then write a freaking feast_.

It was Christmas Day and Sam was standing out in the road again holding his hunting horn. He shivered a little and stamped his feet, procrastinating sounding it. 

This morning he’d awakened to find Dean already in the kitchen, up to his elbows in making a “traditional Christmas dinner, Sam!” Cas was just standing by, taking pictures on his phone and laughing at the chaos. 

“How much food are you making?” Sam asked, edging his way around Dean to find the cereal.

“A lot,” Cas said, passing a spoon around Dean to Sam. 

Sam took the spoon and dumped cereal into his bowl. “…enough for more than the three of us?” he asked, as innocently as possible, a plan beginning to take shape in his head. 

Dean nodded, shoving past Sam to grab a box of breadcrumbs from the cupboard. “Yeah, if you’re the one doing the inviting,” he said shortly. “Now get out of the way.”

Sam made his exit, pausing only to grab the milk. At the breakfast table, Sam ate his cereal, drank the coffee that Cas brought him, and considered where to go from here. 

Now here he was. Well…Dean hadn’t said he couldn’t invite the Erlking. So it was, tacitly, at least, all right for Sam to do this. He took a deep breath, lifted the horn to his lips, and sounded it.

A few moments later, Sam heard that familiar jingling of bells. And then the sleigh, drawn by the white stag with the Erlking holding the reins, came around the corner. It pulled up beside Sam and the Erlking stepped down, looking almost concerned. 

“Sam,” he said. “Is there something wrong? You summoned me so soon—”

Sam shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “Nothing’s wrong. I just—you invited me into your place and gave me hospitality, so I thought that it was only right that I invited you into our home. For Christmas dinner.”

The Erlking stood stock-still for a moment, expression unreadable. But then he began to smile. “I accept your invitation,” he said, and bowed. 

“Come on in, then,” Sam said, offering a hand to the Erlking. The Erlking took it and, together, they went inside. 

As usual, the Erlking was full of surprises. When Sam turned to look at him, intending to warn him about the potential for Cas and Dean to be more than a little spooked, he found that he was looking at someone completely different. Under the warm incandescent lights of the Bunker, the Erlking had transformed into a person who more resembled an ordinary man. His eyes and horns remained, but his teeth were regular, straight and white. And his fur-lined robe had changed into a heavy modern coat, with boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt underneath. 

“Will this suit?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. 

Sam picked his jaw up off the floor. “Of course,” he said. 

The Erlking laughed at whatever face Sam was making. He slid out of the coat and Sam took it and hung it up on the coatrack beside his own. “It would be rude to terrify your brother and his lover,” he said. 

“Should we…call you by a different name?” Sam asked awkwardly. “I mean…it would be kind of weird to just call you the Erlking all afternoon, unless…”

“Alan,” the Erlking said, cutting Sam’s trailing thought off.

Sam looked into the Erlking’s eyes and thought about that. “Alan,” he said. 

The Erlking inclined his head, somehow managing not to break eye contact. “I have not used that name in centuries. But it is my name.”

Their conversation, which seemed to be taking a turn into the much more intimate, was interrupted by Cas coming into the room. “Sam, we—who exactly is this?”

“Alan,” Sam said. “Dean said he had enough, so…”

Cas’s eyes narrowed in sudden recognition. “The Erlking,” he said flatly. “You invited the Erlking to dinner.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, and became acutely aware that he was still, actually, holding the hand of the man in question. He didn’t drop it, though. If Dean and Cas got to be shameless with their public displays of affection, well, so did Sam. Even if he did feel oddly young right now, and vaguely like he was doing something wrong. “No one said no. And besides, he extended me hospitality. I have to repay the debt.”

The Erlking—Alan, and God that was weird to think let alone say out loud—bowed to Cas. “The Yuletide season is merry, angel,” he said. “I’d share your fire, if only for a while.”

Cas planted his face firmly in his hands. “This is not my job to decide,” he said. “I’m not the one making Christmas dinner.”

“Cool,” said Sam. “Then we’ll just go ahead and ask Dean.” 

And with that, Cas trailing in his wake and still holding Alan’s hand, he marched into the kitchen where Dean was leaning against the stove and said, “I invited the Erlking to dinner.”

Dean whipped around with wild eyes. “You did what!?”

Feeling completely absurd, Sam said, “I invited him to dinner. You said we had enough.”

“I hate you sometimes,” Dean announced. He shook his head and threw up his hands. “Whatever, I don’t care. Whoever you want. Just…out of the kitchen for the next couple hours.”

Cas chivvied Sam and Alan to the door. “Better not to be in here,” he said as he turned around and went back in. “Dean is…loud.”

“And yet he stays,” Alan said, watching after Cas with amusement. 

“He always does,” Sam said fondly. “If you’d seen them a few years ago…”

Alan shrugged. “The fact that Dean dared to summon me to seek the angel is proof enough of what lies between them,” he said. 

And that was when Jess tumbled around the corner, yapping and barking with mad excitement, paws and ears going everywhere. She bowled into Sam and he dropped to his knees so he didn’t go over into the table, laughing with his hands in her fur. She licked his hands enthusiastically, tail wagging. 

“Calm down, calm down,” Sam said, scratching between the dog’s ears. “Here—remember him?” He looked up at Alan, who sank into a crouch in front of Jess. She whined and rubbed her muzzle against his knee. 

“I am glad that I gave her to you,” Alan said.

Sam smiled. “She’s a good dog,” he said. 

It was good that Jess had appeared, because she’d managed to break whatever ice was left. They sat on the floor and played with Jess and talked about dogs and other things. Sam lost himself in laughter and merriment, and more than once found himself entranced by Alan’s dark eyes. This was, obviously, a less-than-ideal situation. 

But Sam really, really didn’t care. 

At one point Dean wandered in, looking slightly dazed, to hand them each a hard cider. “Drink for me,” he said, “because Cas won’t let me touch alcohol until I’m done handling an oven.”

“He’s smarter than you,” Sam said to Dean’s back as his brother went into the kitchen again. 

At another moment, Cas came in to hand out dinner rolls. “Dean is having another crisis,” he said, rolling his eyes. “So you’re going to want to tide yourselves over.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated,” Alan said cordially. Cas kept squinting at him, but Sam thought that maybe the fey lord was finally winning the angel over.

Finally, Dean shouted from the library, “Hurry up, dinner’s ready and we’re not waiting!”

“Winchester Christmas spirit,” Sam said ruefully, climbing to his feet and offering Alan a hand. 

They were eating in the library because, in Dean’s words, “This is the only place with enough table space to fit it all.” It was all right, because the library was cozy and warmer than the entire rest of the Bunker. And Sam was just blown away by the amount of work Dean had put into dinner. He’d apparently gone and cooked a whole ham, which looked spectacular, studded with cloves, glazed in honey and baked with rings of sweet pineapple. There was an entire basket of those awesome soft rolls Cas had brought them earlier, more than Sam expected them to ever actually eat. A considerate someone had provided a bowl of leafy green salad with cranberries, orange slices, and a light dressing, which made Sam happy. Dean had made a bowl of mashed potatoes that frankly looked more like a snowcapped mountain than regular mashed potatoes, and the volume of rich gravy on standby was probably enough to drown somebody. He’d blanched fresh green beans, roasted Brussels sprouts with lemon and garlic, and cooked carrots in whiskey and maple syrup. More hard cider was already on the table, enough to get even Cas drunk. And then there were two pies—a pumpkin pie and a delicious-looking apple—perched out of immediate reach on a side table. It was enough food to feed half an army. 

“Did you really expect us three to be able to eat all of this?” Sam asked in amazement, sitting down next to Dean at the table, with Alan on his other side. 

Dean rubbed his eyes. “Leftovers?” he suggested.

“Good idea,” Cas said. 

“You want to say Grace?” Dean asked and Sam twitched with surprise. He didn’t they’d ever said Grace at any meal in their entire lives. 

Cas threw Dean an oblique smile and bowed his head. Sam, surprised, followed suit; out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alan respectfully do the same. 

“To whatever forces have brought us together tonight—the tides of fate, the hand of God, the impulses of the Winchesters—I give thanks,” Cas said. “In the spirit of the season, we come together in hope and joy to face the coming of a brighter year. Surrounded by our friends, we make merry and celebrate the warmer, better times that are past and still to come. We have family, we have friends, and we have love. There is no greater blessing, and for this, we give thanks.”

“Amen,” Dean said softly, and Sam saw him look at Cas with that expression he wore when he actually bothered to stop and think about who, exactly, he was with. 

Alan raised his head and smiled. “A good blessing, Castiel,” he said. 

Cas, startled out of his prickliness, flashed a smile of his own. “Thanks,” he said. 

“Eat before it gets cold,” Dean said brusquely. 

With a grin, Sam held out his hands. “Someone pass the salad?”

They ate and drank and enjoyed the company. Sam was surprised when Cas ate salad, and was even more surprised when Dean ate some too. Alan consumed more than his fair share of ham, but no one minded, especially not when he heaped praise on it and told Dean that it was better than wild boar cooked over a hunting fire—and, coming from him, they all understood that to be an impressive compliment. Cas made it through about six bottles of hard cider before getting even slightly tipsy, and even then he wasn’t what Sam would call “drunk”. They barely made a dent in the mashed potatoes, which Dean said was all right because he’d planned on having enough of that left to make potato pancakes or something like that. The Brussels sprouts were a surprising favorite, while the carrots ended up almost untouched by comparison. They talked and laughed and forgot that any of them were anything more than human. Alan told wild stories that the rest tried to beat with their own tall tales. Cas told jokes that were funnier in any language except English, but made them all laugh anyway. Dean basked in the adoration of his cooking abilities. Sam, to Alan’s amusement, discoursed about serial killers until Dean threw a roll at his head. They all fed Jess scraps under the table until she fell asleep on her bed in the corner.

By the time that Dean brought out the pie, Sam realized that he was going to have to loosen his belt or just explode. There was a brief break while Dean dug out the ice cream for the apple pie and made whipped cream in the kitchen, during which Sam felt that the warm glow of the food, alcohol, and friends was going to make him do something impressively stupid. Everyone had a small slice of each pie, and then dinner was over.

“It’s almost nine o’clock,” Dean said, yawning. “I’m too old to stay up this late anymore.”

“You’re too old?” Cas said, raising his eyebrows.

“Tell me about it,” Alan said. 

Sam leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Well, I guess I’m the only youthful one left,” he said smugly. 

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean said with a long-suffering eye roll. 

Alan rose to his feet. “I do, however, take your meaning,” he said. “I shall not overstay my welcome. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Sam almost knocked his chair over in his haste to get up. “I’ll see you out,” he said. 

Dean got up and shook hands. “Good to see you again,” he said. 

By a Christmas miracle, Cas also shook. “Please just send advance notice next time,” he said. He caught Sam’s arm before he could leave the room, smiling a peculiar smile. “Just make sure to look up before he walks out the door.”

“…all right?” Sam furrowed his brow and followed Alan through the map room, collecting his coat, and then up the stairs. A glance over his shoulder showed that Dean and Cas had, suspiciously, vacated the room. 

At the door, Alan paused and looked up. “Your angel friend seems to have left us a Christmas gift,” he said softly. 

Sam looked up, too. There, above their heads, was a small sprig of a green, white-berried plant. 

“Mistletoe,” Alan said. “A plant that wards against witchcraft. It is an antidote to poison and yet is a poison itself. It is a powerful charm in itself, but you know it best in its meaning, I think.”

“Which is…?” Sam licked his lips, conscious suddenly of the fact that his back was against the railing and he was close enough to be able to touch Alan if he wanted. 

The other man smiled, dark eyes sparkling. “Kiss me,” he said. 

Sam obliged him. 

The air crackled with magic, but Sam wasn’t alarmed. He hadn’t kissed a man in years—not since Brady, in college—but this felt easy and natural anyway. It was a little odd, being the same height and build, but Sam didn’t mind. Alan—the Erlking? Sam couldn’t decide right now—was warm. Sam felt safe this close to him, like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane. 

After a moment, the Erlking stepped back. And he was the Erlking again, tall in his fur-lined coat with sharp teeth that glittered when he smiled. But the smile itself was the same, warm and full of promise. “This has been a merry Yuletide,” he said. “And on Solstice next I shall return again.”

“I can’t wait,” Sam said, a grin breaking over his face. “Next year can’t come soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas. :)


End file.
